Wisdom and Folly

Brief comments on film by Amy.
Some old, some new.  Domestic films and foreign too.

The Darjeeling Limited – Take the most unlikely characters and place them in the most implausible circumstances. Add a dash of rapid fire dialogue and strange but simple plot lines and you have entered a Wes Anderson movie. I say “enter” because I am sucked into this convoluted (but oddly coherent) world from the opening scene to the closing credits. In this case, the unlikely characters are three brothers and the circumstance a search for their long lost mother in the heart of India. They end up discovering more about themselves and each other than their mother, learning the lesson that it’s about your journey not your destination. For me, Anderson (with the exception of Rushmore, which I didn’t buy into) is a small cup of Ben and Jerry’s-you wouldn’t want to eat it for breakfast every day but one scoop is oh so yummy.

After the Wedding- This was a Netflix recommendation and while I wouldn’t say I loved it, it poses some interesting questions. I don’t want to give too much away regarding the plot, but to me it boils down to “Who is my neighbor?” The storyline stretches the elasticity of suspended disbelief, not to the breaking point but enough to cause a run or two in the old pantyhose. Jim found the editing a bit irritating but we both thought it was very well acted. I don’t know if I would give it a spot in my queue again (I guard my Netflix queue like a mother grizzly bear watching her cubs.) But if you find yourself in Blockbuster and it is between this and Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, definitely go with After the Wedding.

Baby Mama - With all the recent hubbub regarding Tina Fey, I was curious to see if she is as funny as people say. I had, until now, resisted the temptation because of the premise of the movie which is as follows: overachiever Kate contracts with accomplished underachiever Angie to act as her baby surrogate. The two have their ups and down and end up somewhere in the middle. While I greatly sympathize with those who long for a biological child and find themselves unable to conceive on their own, for me, surrogacy and it’s half brother, in vitro fertilization, take a legitimate desire a few steps too far. There were several scenes in the movie that qualified for a true laugh out loud moment but overall it left me with an unsettled feeling. Kind of like going out on a first date with someone that you hope doesn’t call back. Not because you didn’t enjoy your time together but because you know that you simply inhabit two completely different worlds that just aren’t compatible with one another.

I just completed my annual trip to the James Dean Festival with my kids, and it’s wonderful to know that I won’t have to endure it again for another 365 days.  Since we live in the midst of the darned thing—two short blocks from the cacophonous midway—there is no way we can avoid taking the kids over for some rides and a bit of funnel cake, lest we face a household mutiny.  Just a few goes on the Kamikaze, Gravitron, and Tilt-a-Whirl are enough to satiate their appetites for spinning and sudden stops, then we are on our way back home to wash off the cigarette smoke and airborne grease. 

As my kids and I plodded through the sweaty mob from ride to ride, I began to compile a list of the things I despise about such festival atmospheres.  One day my children will know how much it tortures me.  But I hide it from them for now so as not to spoil their fun.  At any rate, here is my list (and please don’t share it with Bailey, Sam, Maggie, or Andrew until they are at least in middle school):

10. The ridiculously overpriced rides, midway attractions, and “food”

9. The constant drone of midway vendors, as they clamor after passersby to “take a shot” at winning a big kitschy stuffed animal

8. Thousands and thousands of feet of electrical cords.  Watch your step or you’ll roll an ankle or maybe even tear an ACL.

7. The swarms of bees and yellow jackets which feast in droves on the remnants of sugary treats and puddles of spilled beverages

6. The absurdly unhealthy food—all essentially comprised of sugar-laden fat dipped in grease.  Some of these treats, however, are hotter than others.

5. The grotesquely corpulent adults

4. The painfully self-conscious teenagers (and the not-sufficiently self-conscious ones who should be sentenced to a semester-long seminar on appropriate public display of affection)

3. Whining kids everywhere.  Not my kids, of course.  Only other peoples’ kids.

2. The random and unexpected profanity.  I can take it from the tattoo-riddled, unkempt Skydiver operator.  But from the preschool kid whose mom smiles amusedly at his casual F-bomb?

1. Elephant ears.

That’s just the top ten.  I’ll spare you the other 990. 

Now somebody please pass me the Rolaids.

I have a vivid memory from my teenage years of heading to the breakfast table with a sinking feeling, dreading the approaching humiliation. I would drop into my chair, perhaps even trying to angle my face so that my dad was not staring at me head on. But all in vain, for inevitably the time would come when he would look up from his bowl of oatmeal and be confronted with the recently popped pustule, now red and bleeding on my face. He would then utter the phrase I became so familiar with over the years: “You sure made that a lot worse.”

I tell this story not only because I seem to have a masochistic desire to rehash embarrassing tales from my past but also as an illustration of some deeper tendency on my part to refuse to leave well-enough alone. Isn’t history full of examples of people that get themselves (and often others) into a heap of trouble because they just have to stir the pot? The mess of human history began with the whole Eve and fruit incident and look how well that turned out. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when telling my children the story of the fall of man. I watch their utter bafflement at the greed of Adam and Eve. I mean, they are in the Garden of Eden for crying out loud! To let mankind off the hook a bit, we could take a look at our celestial predecessors. Sam, our six-year-old, has been questioning me of late with regards to Satan. “Mom, if the angels were with God in heaven then how could they choose to sin?” Good question, my boy. I feel like a complete boob every time I try to answer this question. How could they make that choice? And yet, there I am making the same choice every day. Staring straight into the mirror with full knowledge of the havoc I am about to reek and I find the temptation, well, too tempting. So I guess I have no one to blame but myself. Thank goodness my Father is still there, looking me full in the face, despite my attempts to avoid His gaze. “You sure made that a lot worse,” He says, sometimes with a bit of a chuckle, I am sure. But by His grace, He is always there to clean up my mess and maybe some day I will learn to leave well-enough alone.

The presidential race is approaching the home-stretch now, and the media frenzy to cover every detail of the candidates’ each and every move is becoming circus-like.  But, with as much as there is on the line, I suppose this is to be expected.  I suppose, too, that we should appreciate this fact about American politics.  Today the media is so thorough in its investigation of public figures that it is impossible to rise to national public office without having your private life exposed.  So if you aspire to work on Capitol Hill and have moral skeletons in your closet, then be prepared to see those bones hauled out into the light of day for all America to view.

It wasn’t always like this.  The extent of FDR’s health problems were held under wraps by the press, as were Kennedy’s adulterous liaisons.  But media-enabled cover-ups ended with Watergate.  Although it did not concern a personal indiscretion—it was a conspiratorial Republican plot to sabotage the Democrat political machine—this scandal created (or compounded) public suspicion toward our leaders.  Criminal corruption, we learned, really can go to the top.  Consequently, the media has been vigilant to scour every national politician and candidate for office to keep the American public informed as to their real character.  So I say good job, American media.

But there is something that bothers me, and with every new public scandal my annoyance grows.  While the media are tireless in their investigation of public figures, including the private lives of athletes and celebrities, they have immunized themselves to investigation.  In short, the media protect their own-mainly by not reporting ethical indiscretions of other journalists and reporters.  When was the last time you saw a report about a scandal involving a journalist or television news anchor?  Probably the only ones that come to your mind are those involving the Jayson Blair and Dan Rather or some other media person’s sins against their profession. That’s because this is the lone exception-the media will only “out” those whose immoral behavior undermines the media itself.  Otherwise, it appears, they are given a pass.

So as ethics scandals constantly rock the worlds of politics, business, sports, and entertainment, almost never do we hear of scandals among media personnel.  Not that we need more evidence of media bias, but this is especially exasperating because it doesn’t involve mere spinning of stories but constitutes turning a blind eye to bad behavior.  And the problem is not isolated but systemic.  Shame on you, American media.

What we need is a meta-media agency, a troupe of reporters whose special task is to investigate journalists and reporters to the same degree of rigor that other high-profile professionals are investigated.  How I’d love to see the media get a taste of their own medicine.  And how I’d love to see this effect a greater sense of fairness and discretion when it comes to media reports about personal issues that really have no place in public discussions.

Or maybe all we need is just a few courageous reporters who have the moral will to break this code of silence-to start holding their own profession to the same ethical standards to which they hold everyone else.  Now that would be historic.  Then I really could be proud of you, American media.

I sometimes wonder if I have been blessed with the unique gift of maternal instincts. Yes, I can change a diaper at lightning speed and hit the floor running at any hour when I hear the word “Mommy!” But in other areas, I feel I am grossly lacking. “What are they?” you ask. I always burn grill cheese sandwiches. Despite my vigilant efforts to remain by the frying pan, I am inevitably drawn away for an instant, and wham!, they pass golden brown straight to black.  Another strike against me? When I play my kids in games, I never let them win on purpose. I am so competitive that you can’t get me to throw a game of Chutes and Ladders.

But perhaps the worst of my failings as a mom is my inability to turn off my overly analytical mind when watching videos with my kids or reading them books. I just can’t get over all the obviously implausible and sometimes illogical premises, no matter how many times I tell myself “It’s just a book. It’s for kids. Leave it alone.” What is worse, I can’t help but point it out to the kids. “See there, Maggie. Did you notice that Papa Bear is a complete idiot who can’t find his elbow without Mama Bear’s help?” “Sam, have you ever noticed that Little People are all kids and yet where are their parents? Why are they completely unsupervised and where are Child Protective Services?” (This is to say nothing regarding the inconsistencies of such award winning programs as Little Bear where animals that are otherwise regarded as predator and prey buddy up to one another or Franklin where the turtle gets a name and everyone else is known simply by their animal type.) It’s a sickness, I know.

Just the other day, we were riding in the car, enjoying a lovely rendition of “Bringing Home a Baby Bumblebee.” This is one of the boys’ favorite songs because it involves both violence and mess-making, which is rare in children’s music. We arrived at the tragic moment when the bee stings the little kid and the bee’s life is tragically ended and here I quote the revised lyrics: “Oh! It stung me! It didn’t hurt. I’m setting free my baby bumblebee…  Sorry, Mr. Bumblebee!” Are you kidding me? “It didn’t hurt”? Now I have swallowed a great deal of political correctness served up Sesame-Street-style in my days as a mom, but this takes the cake. I’ll take my burned grilled cheese and poor sportsmanship any day over this lie-to-the-children-because-the-truth-is-unpleasant bull hockey. Life is messy and, yes, sometimes painful, but without bee stings we wouldn’t have comforting hugs from Mommy. Without scraped knees, there would be no need for band-aids, which we all know make everything so much better.

Two of the stalwart acts in modern rock will release new records this February: U2 and Morrissey.  And, as usual in both cases, the pre-release hype machine is already in full-throttle months in advance.  The U2 record, to be titled No Line on the Horizon, was recorded in Morocco, France, and Dublin, Ireland.  And sources close to the band are effusive with praise about it.  Co-producer Daniel Lanois is quoted as saying “it’s one of the great, innovative records from U2.”  Well, we’ll see about that.  But one thing is for sure, the song titles of likely album tracks are intriguing.  They include: “Get Your Boots On,” “The Cedars of Lebanon,” “Moment of Surrender,” “Love is All We Have Left,” and “If I Could Live My Life Again.”

The new Morrissey album is called Years of Refusal, and was produced by Jerry Finn, who manned the board on the Moz’s 2004 comeback record You are the Quarry.  Tragically, Finn suffered a brain hemorrhage shortly after finishing the project and died August 21.  But it appears Finn’s final production effort will be a strong one, if comments from Morrissey’s band are any indication.  Like Bono, Morrissey has a knack for interesting song titles.  Probable album tracks include: “Action Man,” “I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris,” “One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell,” “Something is Squeezing My Skull,” “Because of My Poor Education,” “You Were Good in Your Time,” and “Mama Lay Softly on the Riverbed.”

The coincidence of these two releases is a double pleasure.  And as I anticipate them with glee, certain similarities between the two Irish-blooded songsmiths have jumped out at me.  For one thing, both Bono and Morrissey are musical connoisseurs, and not just within the rock tradition but across genres, ranging from Broadway show tunes to Indian trance music.  It is fascinating to see how two men in their late-forties have remained hungry and innovative, both lyrically and musically.  Far from being “written out,” each continues to explore interesting themes and styles with each release.

Bono and Morrissey are both well-read fellows, faithfully observing that guiding maxim for all literary artists: good writers must be good readers.  No artist creates in a vacuum, and as Bono himself has said, “every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief.”  These two have mastered the skill of artistic thievery, drawing their inspiration from great poets, novelists, and singers without lapsing into cheap, transparent imitation.

Another trait they share is strong convictions.  They have keen interests in political issues, and both are social activists regarding certain causes, such as AIDS relief in Africa in Bono’s case (cf. “Crumbs from Your Table”) and animal welfare for the Moz (cf. “Meat is Murder”).  You might say that they are very judgmental people, as perhaps all moral visionaries are, and each has been guilty of mouthing off or being too harshly critical at times.

Finally, both Bono and Morrissey have a strong sense of mortality.  Human frailty and desperation in a dangerous and confusing world are recurring themes in the work of both artists.  There is a certain sorrow which pervades their songs, though the Christian faith of Bono and the other members of U2 preserves a sense of hope in their music.  But Morrissey, no less than Bono, is on a spiritual quest—though I’m quite sure he would resist this characterization—which comes through in his music as well.  Both of them have shared their journeys with us in aesthetically pleasing ways.  And for this I am thankful.

I have never been terribly interested in politics. This might seem a strange confession coming from someone who graduated with a degree in political science. I am not sure what exactly drew me to the major originally, perhaps the fact that I really liked arguing–or, well, thoughtfully discussing issues with people. After serving as a summer intern in Washington D.C., however, I lost all hope that politics actually accomplished anything. Seeing the partisan biases and territorial attitude of so many politicians day after day was a clarifying moment for me both as a student and citizen. I felt quite immune to Potomac fever. (I loved the city itself, though. So many great restaurants!).

My apathy has remained fairly well intact until recently. The presidential election has captivated my attention, as it has so many Americans, in a way that I find quite surprising. It feels a bit like when you are waiting for your oil to be changed and pass the time by watching some random soap opera provided for your IQ-lowering entertainment. Thirty minutes ago, you didn’t know who Trish and Buff were and now suddenly you are breathless to discover if the Siamese twins Trish had are really Buff’s or those of his evil brother, Duff. I suddenly find myself utterly enthralled by the whole drama that is our election process. I’m completely hooked. But living in a fairly conservative area–this is like saying that penguins live in a relatively frigid environment–I have been carefully seeking all sides of the issues, not wanting to end up like one of our feathery Antarctic friends, huddled together with my kind, more concerned with the survival of my species than the greater good.

Fortunately for me, Jim and I do have a few friends that we greatly respect who lean a little farther to the left than ourselves. The day Barack Obama announced his running mate, I ran into one such couple at Bailey’s soccer game. While serving Cheerios to the youngsters, I asked our friends what they thought of Obama’s choice. I asked with a genuine desire to know, not in the way we so often ask questions of those who disagree with us. Per Jim’s recent post, I want to be strengthened in my own convictions through the thoughtful arguments of others or discover where my view is flawed and change my mind. One of our friends shook his head and expressed disappointment at the choice of Senator Joe Biden. He said that he had really believed that Obama wanted to reach across the aisle and start to change things. The phrase stuck with me through the rest of the day–”Reach across the aisle.” I can’t count the number of times I have heard commentators use that phrase. What struck me, though, was the fact that I don’t live on one aisle or the other. Jim and I would both consider ourselves social and fiscal conservatives but on other issues such as gun control and the death penalty, we would be more sympathetic with liberals. Our friends are greatly concerned with social justice but they are pro-life. So where does that leave us–straddling the aisle? What if you are neither red nor blue, but more purple? Where is the purple party–hanging out with Violet Beauregarde in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory? When you can identify with both parties to some extent (and neither completely), how do you go about deciding whom to vote for?

I believe I found the answer this past weekend, sitting on the floor of a Denver book store. Jim and I were attending a wedding in the Mile High City and made the most of it with a date night consisting of cruising Barnes and Noble and a dinner of Indian food. Jim called me over to check out a book on Barack Obama. I can’t remember the title but it was clear the author was not a fan of Obama’s. I skimmed it with an open mind, on the lookout for the glaring exaggerations and misrepresentations I find intolerable from any party. What I read, however, was chilling. It was related to Obama’s views on abortion and specifically the Born Alive Infant Protection Act. I recently learned about this act and the work of a former nurse turned public speaker named Jill Stanek (www.jillstanek.com). I have been shamed by my ignorance and apathy regarding this act and the abortion issue as a whole.

Jim and I really wanted to refrain from making this blog political but what Obama is supporting through his opposition to this bill isn’t political; it’s permission murder. I don’t want to use our blog as a forum for demonizing one political party or another, but I will say that I cannot in good conscience vote for this man. I strongly urge you to be your own means of persuasion, to look at the issues–and not just from the mouths of the candidates but by looking at their records. Whatever the results of your investigation, at least you can pull the lever with confidence in whom and what you are supporting. Who knows, if enough of us who are neither blue nor red decide to straddle the aisle, Violet Beauregarde just might win.

As a father of four kids, I am sometimes asked whether my wife and I “intended” to have “so many” children.  They say, “I don’t want to be rude, but…”  Well, the answer is yes; we did intend to have so many children.  While it is very challenging, having a large family has many benefits, both for us and, especially (we hope) for our society.  We strive to raise our kids to be thoughtful, productive Christians, who will impact culture in many positive ways.  And we hope that they, in turn, will have many kids of their own who do the same.  This is the way cultures are renewed, and we aspire to be a link in that causal chain in our own culture, which so badly needs renewal.

However, I occasionally encounter people who take a very different view of the matter.  The Earth is already overpopulated, they tell me, and having children only adds further stress to the planet.  Each kid means one more massive carbon footprint, a net loss to Earth.  Thinking themselves conscientious environmentalists, they suggest that the path my wife and I have chosen is actually irresponsible.  While these conversations rarely turn into debates, I am prepared to show my skeptical friends the flaws in their thinking.

First of all, such thinking assumes that our kids will be environmentally irresponsible, which we are working hard to prevent.  None of our lives need be a “net loss” to the planet.  In fact, if our kids turn out to be as environmentally responsible as we hope they will be, then we can expect net gains because of them.  For one thing, we practice a form of vegetarianism which has tremendous environmental benefits.  In terms of reducing greenhouse gases, abstaining from meat is one of the most significant contributions that one can make.  And we expect that our kids will likely continue this family practice into adulthood, perhaps teaching their own progeny to do the same.  On top of this, there is the potential that one of our kids will become an environmental scientist and make a profound contribution to the field.  The reasoning of my skeptical friends rules this possibility out of hand a priori.

This brings up another point which is rather exasperating.  None of the no-kids-because-of-the-environment folks I know are vegetarians.  They are so concerned about the planet that they refuse to procreate, but they refuse to do this very beneficial thing for the environment: abstain from meat.  For a while this puzzled me, but then it hit me.  The refusal to have kids and indulgence in meat have something in common-both choices are easy and convenient.  Raising kids and maintaining a vegetarian diet, on the other hand, are difficult and inconvenient.

Finally, and most disappointing from the standpoint of moral reasoning, the no-kids environmentalists are (or tend to be) guilty of one-track thinking when it comes to family planning.  By making environmental concerns the single overriding factor in their choice not to have children, they make this a moral trump card.  But even if environmental concerns did support the small family approach, why should we ignore the many other considerations which support the opposite perspective?  What about the countless ways that well-trained children can benefit society when they become adults (or even while they are still young)?  When there are so many other significant factors to take into account when doing family planning, a purely environmental approach seems narrow-minded and, well, irresponsible.  In fact, it makes me suspect that something other than environmental issues are at play here.  But, of course, this is not something I would ever say to the no-kids environmentalists.  I wouldn’t want to be rude.

In our kitchen we have a large set of windows overlooking our quiet (when the motorcycles aren’t in season) tree-lined street. I spend a great deal of the day standing, looking out these windows, as I make the kids’ lunches, fix dinner, and do a hundred other small daily tasks. It’s strange that such a beautiful view, at least in the summer, causes me such vexation. You see, two of my good friends (and their swarm of kids with whom my swarm of kids greatly enjoy playing) live almost directly across from these windows and right next to each other. Between us is a church parking lot that functions as a demilitarized zone for the swarm and their roller blades, bikes and tricycles. It is rare that a day passes without me watching one of the kids dash across the street to see if someone can play.

What a blessing, right? Funny how human beings have a talent for taking every blessing and twisting it into a curse. Because while I often smile as I watch my kid’s mad dash toward friendship, there are other times, more often that I care to admit, that I stand on tiptoe to make sure I’m not being left out of anything fun. A recent phone conversation with a friend proved the absolute absurdity of my paranoia. The conversation began innocently enough, as we were discussing carpooling for school. Yet despite the relative unimportance of the topic, I could tell both of us were tense and a bit defensive. You see, carpooling is a very political subject, demanding a great deal of diplomacy and tact, a bit like joining NATO. You are either in and therefore recognized as a “player,” one of the inner circle and worthy of being entrusted with someone else’s offspring, or you are out and left to fend for yourself among the lesser alliances with lesser known acronyms like the IBSA Dialogue Forum or the International Black Sea Club. Finally, I confessed to feeling a bit like a middle schooler and admitted that I was afraid of presuming too much and being left out of the loop in my friend’s plans. She quickly affirmed my value as a friend, and I suddenly felt like I had someone to sit beside me at lunch for the rest of my life. (What is a more likely place for humiliation than a large room full of adolescences balancing trays of food and desperately trying not to look desperate?)

What followed was an honest and refreshing tête-à-tête about how often we feel isolated and excluded from the social circles revolving around us in a seemingly endless chain of play dates and sleepovers. The irony was that I felt this way about this very friend. As she expressed her longing for true community and a sense of belonging, I heard my own voice (only I normally just talk to myself or Jim, if he is unlucky enough to answer his office phone at the wrong time). The more I listened, the more I felt something click in my head about my own views on community. I realized that however I try to disguise it by dressing it up in language about the “body of Christ,” what I really mean when I talk about community is a place where I feel completely comfortable. Though I talk about wanting to serve others and support and encourage them, what I am really looking for is others who will serve and support me. And if they think I am fun, like my cooking, and greatly admire my parenting skills, that’s great too. I am not looking for community; I am looking for an entourage. And as I sat there looking out my windows, my mind came to rest on Jesus. What an entourage He had! The disciples were not exactly prestige friends, and I feel quite certain they weren’t in the elite carpool. Christ had something to offer them, not the other way around. He chose friends who needed friends.

I suddenly saw the vicious cycle I was in.  Thinking only of myself just magnified each perceived slight, which made me think about myself more, and so on. The irony is that when I die to self and let go of my firm grim on self-interest, it is in that moment I find peace. When I am only looking out for myself, I am all I see. (This experience is a bit like looking too closely at one’s reflection in the glare of the dressing room mirror. Absolutely no good can come of it.) I have been standing at the window looking out for myself when all the while I should have been looking out for opportunities to serve. The contentment that I feel in the presence of others does not come from thinking about myself. It’s when I look to the needs of others that I cure my loneliness. The isolation Jesus experienced every day of His life on earth and especially on the cross wasn’t cured by gathering to Himself the best and the brightest. It was through His ultimate sacrifice for our sake that He restored fellowship with His Father, for Himself as well as for ourselves. The community of heaven awaits me if I am willing to lay down my life. God placed me in front of a window looking out, not in front of a mirror looking in.